A Georgetown institution since 1933, Martin’s Tavern
opened for business the day after Prohibition ended.

In Booth #3, Jack Kennedy proposed to his fiancee.

And in Booth #1, a single-seater,
the bachelor Senator preferred downing his coffee,
scarfing his meat and potatoes, and reading his newspapers in peace.

The Tavern’s whitefish was reminiscent of good ole Yorkshire fish-n-chip goodness.
From a nearby table, a noisy and drunken old pollster entertained us with old war stories.

JFK campaigning in West Virginny

While exploring Georgetown’s higher elevation,
we noticed a cluster of folks huddled atop a steep stairwell.
Turns out it was the infamous landmark known as “The Exorcist Steps.”

It was definitely skeery going down ’em.
As I passed a man who had just stopped on one of the landings,
I noticed he continued to grip the railing like we were pitching on the high seas. . .

He gave me a haunted look while I smiled encouragingly. . .

A CAPITOL VISIT

“Reader, suppose you were an idiot.
And suppose you were a member of Congress.
But I repeat myself.”
— Mark Twain

One morning we set our sights for breakfast at the Longworth Building,
where the Congressional Cafeteria had undergone a fresh, organic re-haul
courtesy of former Speaker of the House Nancy Pelosi. . .

Featuring fresh fruits, yogurt, oatmeal, semolina and grits,
the cafeteria sports a custom omelet station to boot.
How a divided Congress agreed to the re-haul is staggering in its implications.

Let’s face it, the National Archives is the country’s cluttered, albeit well-organized attic.

In the National Gallery’s West Wing,

. . .children mimic the masters

and tinker with severed heads.

The East to West walkway gives a wink to Vegas.

According to Munch, “The Scream” was inspired by a
devastating panic attack he experienced
while on an innocent outing with friends.

One evening, after a variety of panic attacks,
we trekked the Tidal Basin to Mr. Jefferson’s Memorial.
Don’t ask how Ms. Plantar Fasciitis was doing!

Mr. Jefferson was said to have three pets – including a mockingbird . . .

Staying near Union Station and the Capitol Hill neighborhood
means a good chance of passing the stunning Library of Congress.

One of our favorite gallery crawls came at the Phillips Museum,
where we viewed “Moments When Photography Became Art.”

The fascinating exhibit examined how established artists
turned their attention to the dubious camera

Interestingly, they loved their blurry photos, the blurrier the better it seemed.
But the schism hit the fan, so to speak, when edgy artists like Stieglitz
began favoring sharp-focused realism over the blurry proponents. . .

We loved the exhibit, could not get enough of it, went through it once, twice, thrice.

We left because we got hungry, not to mention,
the lure of Teaism is a heady thing. . .

When she ordered her beloved bubble tea,
H inadvertently ended up with a chai version.
Not surprisingly, the cardamom/clove combo proved irresistable.

That evening, to my horror, H dismantled a toothy lobster at Clyde’s.

The shock was real, as in my quest to avoid lobster-eaters,
I had never noticed lobsters had molars before. . .

That same evening, satiated by her savage meal,
H suggested we join a Haunted Washington Tour,
hosted by the giggly, possibly drunken Dolly Madison.
After I guessed her historical identity, Dolly presented me with
glow-in-the-dark vampire choppers, somehow befitting the evening.

Popping in and out of the dark night’s action
was a visibly insensible Edgar Allan Poe,
along with other noteworthy historical characters.

Afterward, just to add more hem to the mayhem,
H suggested we catch Louis C.K. at the Warner Theatre.

“We need the comedy to reduce our stress,” she explained.

Or maybe, as Auntie Irene often counsels,
“You just need to get high, Towlie.”

A whirlwind week had flown by and we still had one more
exciting tour on our agenda – the one we’d booked weeks earlier,
the one FloJo urged us not to miss. . .

“Allo my pretties,” said Detective James McDevitt, our historical tour guide
who happened to be on duty the night President Lincoln was shot.

Actually, he said, “Allo, I’m deputizing all of youse, and gimme all the
sealed evidence you have and if those seals are broken,
you are so busted!”

Which certainly came back to bite some of us in the rear. . .

Unbeknownst to everyone,
the great-great grandson of Det. McDevitt
was secretly tagging along on our tour !

We learned that not only had his Great-great grandpappy
been a detective, but his great grandpa as well.

Det. McDevitt’s ancestor may have looked imposing,
but he was excited as all get-out by his ancestral heritage.

Describing the assassin’s escape through the theatre’s back alley. . .

And coolly sharing inside info with the rabble.

Barred from entry doesn’t mean one can’t find a pretext. . .

. . . to sneak in and out. . . (like finding and turning in a lost earring)

But seriously, you can’t just wander through Ford’s anymore.
You have to produce a ticket just to wander around.
Sad.

. . .

EASTERN MARKET

A fanciful view of the once unpaved, swamp-infested,
animal-grazing, carriage-roaming streets of the District.

The Market offered seasonal needs.

Lunch break at Eastern Market. “Zza and savory pumpkin soup.

“If you want to have a friend in Washington, better buy a dog.”

— President Harry Truman

Or maybe a kitty. . .

Just don’t tell Frango. . .

When a series of wheeler-dealer Amtrak customers kept asking H,
“Why so much?”
we decided to co-opt the line during our DC excursions.

H made an amazing choice when she ordered Oyamel’s
Mexican Chocolate, which featured a knockout combo of
chocolate custard and sorbet, with tangy passion fruit and pumpkin seeds.

Sublime

At the end of our trip, I learned a few things. . . (tm Stan)

Like, with the right amount of Ibuprofen,
H could feasibly salsa barefoot over a fire ant colony.

And last but not least:

Your feetsies, treat them with the love and respect they deserve. . .

NEXT UP:

Will H’s plantar fasciitis foil our plans?
Or will her Ibuprofen get left behind in the hotel?
Or will National Gallery’s security chief Alonso come to our rescue?
Or would you believe all of the above?